Learning to Ride

 I learned to ride a bike when I was in kindergarten, or right after. I think I got the bike for Christmas that year. That was the first time it sunk in that the big unwrapped presents came from Santa. We did that with our kids, and I think it always sticks out: Santa brings the BEST presents!

We were living back at George Air Force Base, on Irving Place. It was a cul de sac in the base housing area. Low brick duplexes, and I don’t think anyone had a garage or car port, because people parked along the street.

Learning to ride was not easy. I rode with the training wheels for awhile, and felt very comfortable, and then stymied. Big kids didn’t ride with training wheels. I remember Dad taking them off one day in the cul de sac, and doing the whole running along side while I tried to find my balance. It was a disaster. Ran right into someone’s car.

Try again. Up, riding, crashing. Another car.

Maybe not a good idea on the street. In the back of the house was a big strip of wide desert between rows of houses. There was a dirt road along there that the trash trucks came and emptied the big metal pick-up dumpsters behind each duplex. Every so often was some playground equipment.

So I went back there and gave things a try. Same thing over and over again. Up! Riding! Crash into the dumpster. It was as if I was magnetically drawn to them! Dad couldn’t believe how I could not seem to miss them.

But I was determined. I picked myself up, got back on, got going… peddled wobbly down till I got close to the next one… and promptly ran right into it.

Eventually I got the hang of it, but it was definitely a rough start. And the guy down the street, who’s little MG I ran into - not my biggest fan for quite awhile.

1965. Kindergarten

First Grade.

Third Grade.